Into White
by lookingforme
Summary: After the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Eowyn learns that everything, including herself, has changed. However, she may be able to accept it, with the help of the gentle Steward of Gondor...rated T for thematic elements.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Hi, and welcome to my first fanfic! Actually, this is my first time submitting (I've been writing fanfics for years), and I feel excited/nervous. I would appreciate any reviews, as long as any criticism is constructive and not simply ripping me apart (I don't handle that very well!) Well, without further ado…enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters; everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 1

The darkness of the void was beyond the night that presses on the window. The gap was so deep, it seemed that if I stepped forward, I would not fall. Only a narrow ribbon of black was visible of the bottom.

I had always been afraid.

And I was afraid now.

Voices whispered to me from the depths. I wished so desperately that I could have drowned them out. Fell voices rasped out all my fears, all my ruined dreams, all of my terrible guilt. How did they know? What did they know of my pain?

"What use is a woman in man's garb?" they mocked.

I did not realize I was crying until I tasted the salt on my lips.

Turn back. I must turn back. I could not stand the fetid darkness, the foul echo of all my fears.

"You have failed. You could not save those you love. You could not save your uncle."

I closed my eyes. The pain that my arm was causing me was dull compared to the fierce piercing in my heart.

"I tried," I whispered brokenly.

"You failed."

I heard the soft groaning of the dying men on the battlefield—worse than any scream, any keening, any cry of grief. Their moans provided a terrible chorale for the voice.

"But perhaps you didn't fail," it whispered. "After all, what was Theoden but an old dotard who held you captive by the leash of your duty? You are free now!"

"How dare you!" I screamed hoarsely. I felt the warm sun on my shoulders. I wanted so desperately to turn. Turn back…turn back…

The wind raised to a shriek, but the barren, endless land remained still.

"It's not true," I whispered. "I loved him."

"As you loved another?"

My vision blurred with red-hot tears.

"Who are you to question me?" I rasped out.

My hands unconsciously pulled at my hair. But how true, I thought calmly. How often had I resented my uncle for the bonds, obligations his illness had imposed on me? How often had his gentle protective "No, Eowyn," in response to my desperate pleas to be able to ride with him to battle, to fight, to win my own glory and valor instead of waiting upon those who sought it freely driven me to my chambers, attempting not to shake with fury?

Fury and desperation. Desperation to escape.

"There is no escape for you now. You are being meted with that which you deserve."

Suddenly, the voice seemed all too familiar…

I clamped my ears shut against the screech of the King of Agmar's beast. His hideous head loomed over the void, the small black eyes fixed upon me, rendering incapable of movement. My chest felt so very cold, I couldn't breathe…

"You shall pay, Shieldsmaiden of Rohan!"

My arm fell to my side, numb with pain. I wanted to scream, but my mouth merely opened to let nothing escape. Turn back—I must turn back—I could feel the hot sun, agonizingly close, on my shoulders—but then why was I so cold?

The Witch King slowly unsheathed his sword.

"I'll kill you!" I shrieked, my heart beating in my ears. "I'll do it again—I will!"

"But who is there left for you to live for?" he whispered. I shuddered at his raspy voice rasping past my ear. "They are all dead—your uncle, your brother, your—oh, but he never did love you, did he?"

I let out a barking sob, my hot tears falling so thickly that I could not see. I didn't want to see, I never wanted to see again. He was right. After fulfilling my most cherished dream—at last, being able to seek my own glory and honor, at last, fighting for the ones that I loved—what had I accomplished?

I had lost everything, without realizing what I had to lose.

I did deserve this.

I closed my eyes as the Witch King slowly descended from his steed and made his way towards me. He seemed to float across the void easily, and soon he would be bearing upon me…I could not move…

"Eowyn!"

A different voice—this one so welcome, so wanted—it couldn't be…

"Eowyn!"

It wasn't—I knew it was some cruel trick of the Witch King's making—it had to be…

"Eowyn! Come—turn to the light! Let us leave this place! Come!"

I turned around, and ran towards my brother.

Author's note: I hope you liked it! I will attempt to update regularly, but as I am writing this by hand, and then typing it up, I'll have to ask you to be patient. (I think better when writing by hand. For some reason, a blank computer screen freaks me out, if I don't know what I'm going to say!) Anyways, until the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Eowyn!"

I opened my eyes, then shut them again. Though my vision was blurred, I realized that I did not recognize this place. Sunlight cast golden bars on the warm wooden floor, and outlined the shadows…

The shadows. Oh, please, please let it be over.

"Eowyn! Don't leave me now—don't!"

My brother's voice was low and strained.

"Eowyn!" he croaked.

I opened my eyes again. The sunlight did not disappear, the shadows did not attempt to engulf me.

I blinked hard once, to clear my eyes of sleep. Slowly, my brother's face was made visible—his eyes were red, and he still wore his battle gear, scabbard strapped to his side. His wide brow was smeared with blood and dirt, and his hands visibly shook as he held them out before him in a helpless gesture.

He was alive.

I choked back my tears of relief—I could not cry, not now. I would save my tears for later. Right now, Eomer needed me. He had always needed me, though he was the oldest—he had always asked my opinion on decisions in the court, had always come to me when witnessing my uncle's decline was too much to bear. In the dark halls of Meduseld, he had been my only comfort.

Just seeing him again made my heart ache with love, so that I had to close my eyes again to hold back the tide. I felt as if someone had lifted a weight off my heart—was it another trick?

I smiled at him. "Eomer," I said, my voice a crackly whisper. "Are you really here?" I attempted to touch him. "They told me you were dead—was it a dream? Are you a dream?"

"Welcome back to the living day, Shieldsmaiden of Rohan," said a male voice. Slow, deliberate steps made their way around my bed, but I knew who it was before I could catch a glimpse of his face. The room was utterly silent, though I could see Gandalf and another man standing at the doorway of the room.

"Hail, Lady Eowyn," Gandalf said, his eyes sparkling with kindness.

Aragorn's gray eyes searched my face.

"The Shadow has passed," he said to Eomer. "For now."

I felt my smile falter at seeing him. I bit my lip to steel myself against the tears that were sure to come now. But I felt no tears; only my heart felt heavy in my stomach, and I wanted to close my eyes and go back to sleep—anything to escape him…

"My lady, word has spread of your valiant and courageous deed," he said, as Eomer took my hand. I could barely feel his fingers squeezing mine. "You will not be easily forgotten."

I wanted to shout at him, wanted to tell him that I could have proved myself sooner, could have gained unimaginable honor and glory, if only he had let me, if only he had permitted me to travel with him on his path…

If only he had loved me.

And now I felt the heat of tears again. I knew I could not say anything without giving way to them, so I inclined my head as gracefully as I could. I willed him to leave, so I would not make a fool of myself in front of him.

"Eowyn, our uncle is dead," Eomer said softly and hesitantly.

I breathed deeply as a tear made a worm trail on my cheek. I could only nod my head again—I felt as if my throat was enveloped, rendering me mute.

Oh, Uncle.

Eomer whispered something to Aragorn, which must have been permission to talk with me alone, for he made his way to the door. But not before giving me a look of pity—sheer pity, his eyes soft, his mouth set in a sad smile.

I had thrown myself in front of him, begged to go with him, begged for his help to escape, to be free—I had asked him to save me from the duties that dictated my every action, and in return, I had received pity.

I felt hot with shame and tears.

Now Eomer sat with me alone. He slowly stood, and turned his back towards me, looking out the window. "His death was not in vain," he whispered, his voice breaking. "At least he died with a sword in his hand and pride in his heart instead of withering away in the Golden Hall."

I nodded again, still unable to speak. I knew that I should say something, anything—Eomer had always been close with his feelings. I could tell from the way that he gazed intently out of the window at the white balcony that he was trying not to cry. Again the fierce ache of love overwhelmed me. Love and grief.

But this is where my brother and I failed each other—we always failed each other. Eomer's slow breathing was the only sound in the room. Perhaps we were too alike. We both held our emotions inside ourselves—I because if I poured them out, I feared that I would not be able to stop, and he because he did not want to be seen as vulnerable, weak.

I wished that for once, we could speak to each other plainly; for once I could tell him of my pain, my love. But here my courage failed.

As it always failed.

To break the silence, I said, "Eomer, you must reward the Halfling, Merry, for without him, I would not be here now. He is the valiant one, not I."

"You would not be here if you had stayed home," he said harshly, still staring out the window. "If you had done your duty."

"And how long must I do my duty, my lord?" I said through gritted teeth, anger tightening my jaw. "How long must I care for faltering feet? How long must I wait for you to return home, with tales of glory and battle? Why cannot I choose my own path?"

To my surprise, he came back to sit beside me, and took my hand in his. I could feel the roughness of his fingertips now. "Forgive me, Eowyn," he said, all trace of anger gone. "I should not accuse you—you did nothing—Eowyn—

"Do you know how I felt, when I saw you lying on the battlefield as if you were dead?" he asked softly. "Please, Eowyn. Neither Theoden nor I meant to cage you in. We only wanted to keep you safe. How could we stop you, my stubborn sister?"

And how could I tell him that though I knew it was out of love, I still resented their denial to my request to fight with them, because it felt like a denial of who I was? How could I say that part of my heavy grief for my uncle was guilt for the many times I had wished to escape his will? How could I tell my brother that in battle I had found neither honor nor glory, only death?

"I understand," I choked out.

He smiled at me, then stood. "I must say farewell for the present," he said. "The Rohirrim ride out to the Black Gates before the sun has set tomorrow. It may be enough of a distraction to allow the Ring-Bearer to pass through Mordor unnoticed."

"Let me come with you," I said on impulse. I did not want to go, felt sick at the thought of the heat and blood of battle; but I did not want to face my thoughts, or indeed myself, as I knew would happen if I stayed here.

"No, Eowyn." His voice was harsh again.

I turned slowly onto my side, irritated by his response. What was wrong with me? I did not want to go into battle, despite my yearning for it since childhood. I was angry at  
Eomer for denying a wish that I knew was impossible. I did not want to be here, but I didn't want to leave, either.

It had always been this way with me, I realized. I loved the rolling green plains of Rohan, yet they had seemed to hold me captive at times. I loved Eomer, yet wished he would let me be. Theoden…

I felt hot tears again.

"Eowyn?"

Eomer's hand gently stroked my hair, and I could not help but let out a sob at his touch. "Please don't leave me," I croaked, hating my pathetic plea even as it escaped my lips. I would wish him to stay, but to let me be? Mad, miserable girl, I berated myself.

"Eowyn, I must go now," Eomer's voice said in my ear. "Will you not wish me well?"

I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling dizzy from lack of sleep. "I always wish you well," I said, smiling through my tears.

His beard tickled my cheek as he laid a kiss upon my hair. "I wish you good health," he whispered, his eyes red and wet. "May I see you happy again when I return."

With slow steps, Eomer left my room.

And I succumbed to my tears that fell so thick I thought I would drown, muffling my sobs in my pillow.

Author's note: Hi again! Well, I managed to get two chapter's posted on the same day; a big feat for me, as I am a very slow typer. Again, I hope you enjoyed it, and any comments would be much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Wow, I am updating much faster than I thought I would! Well, today it snowed (YAY! I love the snow) but that means I can't get down the driveway (or rather, my mom can't get down the driveway). So, no school, and plenty of time to write, which is OK by me. Well, enough of my rambling…Enjoy! Oh, right…many thanks to those who reviewed! You made my day!

Disclaimer (forgot it last time): This all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 3

"Eowyn! Eowyn!"

I could hear my name being called, could taste the cold dry air that whistled into my mouth. The din around me was deafening—hoarse commands that I did not understand, shrill screams and whinnies of horses, the terrible groaning of wounded men. But above all of this hellish racket, I could only hear my name.

"Please, sister-daughter! Please!"

I stood still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing fast. Perhaps if I did nothing, it would all go away.

I turned slowly, almost as if it were against my will, my heart-beat thudding painfully in my ears.

I froze, my insides turning a burning cold.

The beast lifted his head from my uncle's prostrate body, blood smeared across his mouth like some garish paint.

I screamed, and could not stop. Please, no, please—

I awoke with a jerk, my vision immediately focusing. Sticky sweat clung to me; the back of my nightgown was damp. My heart still thudded noticeably in my breast. I stayed frozen in my sleeping position, unable to move.

"My lady?"

I gasped, and shot up in bed.

"Lady Eowyn!"

I cried out as pain stabbed through my arm. I closed my eyes, waiting for the terrible wave to recede. Heat enveloped me, and I would have kicked the covers off if I could have moved.

Slowly, a man who I dimly recognized as one of the visitors from the afternoon helped me back down. I thrust my face into my pillow, hoping to quell the nausea that I felt. I breathed in the faint smell of lavender; immediately, my shoulders relaxed.

"I am very sorry to have startled you, my lady," the man whispered in a voice high with worry.

"It's all right," I replied shortly.

"Are you quite all right?" he asked, running a business-like hand over my forehead to check for a fever. "You were moaning in your sleep."

"Yes, I am all right," I said again.

"I don't believe I have introduced myself," he said jovially. "I am the Warden of the Houses of Healing. If you ever need anything, simply ask me. Do you—"

"I truly am all right," I cut him off. I knew I was being rude, but I couldn't bear the thought of talking to anyone. The horror of my dream was still visible in the corner of my eye—the dripping blood, the Witch King laughing, a hiss that made the air a freezing, burning cold—

"I would like to go outside," I declared, attempting to sound authoritative. "If you please."

The Warden led me down a long, wide hall, with two rows of cots pushed against either wall, and opened a door that led out to the white balcony visible from my window.

"Come back inside soon; I wouldn't want you to catch cold," he said kindly.

"Thank you," I said, feeling slightly remorseful about my short manner.

I walked to the edge of the balcony, and looked out onto the horizon. The night was cloudy—dark clouds that were not of nature's making. The mountains sat, ominously challenging, on the very edge of the field at Gondor's feet. A terrible fire's glow seemed reflected in the sky.

Was Eomer on the road that led to the Black Gate yonder? As the evening had waned, I had nearly gone mad wondering, but when I had asked the Healer who brought me my evening meal whether the Company had started as of yet, she said she did not know.

His words brushed across my ear again.

_"May I see you happy when I return."_

Oh, my brother. What if you don't return? Who is to say that this darkness will not consume us all?

I did not like Gondor. I hated the cold stone façade of the city, grandiose, but in no way warm or welcoming. This great city, once a haven of knowledge and light and truth was now rendered silent and austere under the malevolent eye of Mordor's constant watch.

I missed Rohan. I had never thought I would miss Rohan—much of my life had been spent wishing I were somewhere far from my homeland. Far from the halls of Meduseld, where Wormtongue had followed my every move with his hooded eyes, far from the limitless plains that still seemed to hem me in, far from my people who truly did love me, when all I felt was suffocating obligation. I loved reading tales of far away places—the never-aging beauty of Lothlorien, the mighty Dwarf-halls deep beneath the earth. Any place that was far away.

Far from the slow decline of my grief-stricken uncle.

Even during his illness, I had resented him. At the time, he had been too weak to monitor my actions, but this very weakness kept me from riding out with my brother. Who else would feed him, talk to him, make sure his every need was met, I thought angrily.

Guilt choked me, and tears welled up in my eyes again. Disgusted by the pathetic weakness of my emotions, I fiercely wiped them away.

But I could not help the guilt. I had loved him—but were there not times when I had secretly been angered by his weakness, his frailty?

Angered, because it was all that kept me there.

And now he was gone, and I was free. And all I wished for was his return and to ride back with him to Rohan.

I had never valued his kindness, his insight. He was the only one who had realized my love for Aragorn, and he was the one who had counseled me after…

But no. I could not think of that now. Not now.

The fresh air was lost on me; I needed to escape my thoughts and the night only seemed to cause me to confront them.

I couldn't. Please, no.

Who was I; the thought floated across my consciousness. How was it that a shieldsmaiden of Rohan was afraid of her thoughts?

Afraid of herself?

Was I even a sheildsmaiden anymore? The battle had not brought on a bloodlust within me—my heartbeat became audible again as I thought of that day and the dreams that had been haunting me. I had felt no joy in killing, only a nauseating horror. The rivers of blood, the dirty dead faces—

But who was I, then?

A girl. A silly, stupid girl who did not know what she wanted, who treated her only father with condescending pity, who dreaded her duty to lead, to rule—but dreaded her dream all the more.

My tears were long dry by now, causing my heavy tired eyelids to itch.

Sleep. I needed sleep, for sleeping was the only way to escape.

To forget all these questions with no answers.

I softly closed my door on my way in.

Author's note: Well, I hope that was enjoyable—don't worry, she'll meet Faramir soon, andthe pace will pick up. I hope I'm not boring anyone, and again, thanks to those who reviewed. Happy reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: It's me again!! So, hi. Hope you're liking this read. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, and to those of you that have read it but not reviewed. (subliminal messaging here!) Well, here it goes!

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine *sigh*. All is property of J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 4

The next two days were grey and dreary in my memory. I would always wake before dawn, haunted by the same hellish dream, then would attempt to sleep until breakfast was brought to me. I spent the time between meals walking on the balcony or in the ward. But wherever I went, I could not escape my grief nor guilt. I was sure the Healers were baffled by me—I could not bear to be alone, for it was then that I began to think of all I had lost. The bustle of the Healers attending to the other patients was ironically calming. But I never spoke unless a direct question was asked of me. I was afraid that if I began to talk, all my feelings would come pouring out, like water out of a jug—feelings that I was far from proud of. I feared that one misspoken word would release the tide that I felt perched within me.

But it was better to die silent than to admit to my terrible questioning.

So I sat and watched.

My right arm healed quickly; the Healers assured me that the sling would soon be unnecessary. But always, I felt a chill in my fingertips.

Soon, I discovered something that was oddly comforting—I began to feel restless. I would find myself pacing the length of the balcony without being aware of it. My infrequent conversations always concluded with a question about the Rohirrrim's movements.

Ever since the battle, everything—my life, my self—had changed. But the restlessness, the feeling of wanting so desperately to move on, so desperate that it hurt—that I understood.

I had only carried around that feeling my whole life.

On the morning of my fourth day in the Houses of Healing, I approached the Warden.

"I wish to be released," I said, with all the authority I could muster.

"I'm sorry?" The Warden was a short man with a wide, round face, and eyebrows that constantly seemed to be questioning. He put down the roll of gauze he was carrying beside the bed and looked at me, his eyes bright with concern.

"How long will I be incarcerated?" I said impatiently. "I cannot stay here, useless and idle, while my brother rides off to war. Is there any news of him?"

He laid his hand on my shoulder. "I am sorry for your pain, my lady," he said softly. "But you are not fully healed."

How could I tell him that I doubted I could ever be fully healed? That one who had for so long hated her beloved home, who had so long resented her invalid uncle, did not deserve—did not wish—to be healed? That one who had found love, painful, unrequited love would never be whole again?

But I heard the litany in my consciousness that I had heard my whole life.

Escape. I must escape.

"Is there nothing for me to do?" I asked. "Who commands this city?"

"The Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City," the Warden said, bewildered. His voice then dropped to a confidential whisper. "But I have heard rumors, whispers of a—"

"Please," I interrupted, fervently praying that this was the answer to all my questions. "Let me see him. Where does he stay?"

"Why, right here," the Warden replied. "He was gravely wounded in an attempt to keep Osgiliath from the hands of the—"

"Please, take me to him."

The Warden sighed, and led the way through the ward, across another hallway, and opened a door that led out onto another balcony. This one was much larger than the balcony outside my window; empty garden pots lined the railing, and from the smell of the wind, the earth in the small plot in the middle of the balcony had been overturned.

"My lord," said the Warden, bowing to a tall, dark-haired man whose back was to us. "This is the Lady Eowyn of Rohan. She fought in the Battle of the Pelanor Fields and was wounded. She now wishes to be released," he concluded in a slightly incredulous tone.

I felt the Steward's gaze upon me, and raised my chin slightly. His face was pale and tired; dark shadows were smudged around his eyes, which were a clear gray. One could not help but meet his gaze, which as he looked at me, went soft with pity…

Pity. how I hated it. I didn't want it—had never wanted it.

Why was it that those who pitied me could not give me what I most wanted?

"I do not complain of lack of care, my lord," I said stiffly, my shoulders straightening. "But if left to be idle, I fear that I shall go mad." I forced the last words out.

"Excuse us," the Steward said kindly to the Warden. I heard the Warden's retreating footsteps, but did not look away.

"What do you wish of me, my lady?" He asked gently. His voice was deep without being harsh. "I, too, am kept prisoner here."

"My only wish is to be let free of these Houses," I said, but I lowered my eyes. What did this man think of me, I wondered. Did he see a proud, untouchable sheildsmaiden? I spoiled child?

A girl who no longer knew who she was?

"I would not cross the Warden," said the Steward, a small smile lifting the corners of his eyes. "He knows his craft well."

"I do not wish to be healed," I said, my voice ringing petulantly in my ears.

I do not know if I can be healed.

I sniffed hard against the tears that pricked my eyes. I would not cry, not in front of this man.

"I can't stay for another week," I said, my voice choked. "Not if I am to simply sit and do nothing. Give me something to do!"

"We can arrange that," the Steward replied. "But in return, you must stay in the Houses."

I could only nod. Disappointment rose in my throat.

Had I really expected otherwise? No one would—could—help me escape.

Not the Steward.

Not Aragorn.

"You are not the only one, rest assured," the Steward presently said. "I too am kept here while others ride off to war. I too keep watch in the dark of night, and walk in the garden to pass the time. It would be very kind on your part if you would walk with me each day," he added, his last words hesitant, his brow raised in question.

I knew I couldn't. No, it was not possible. For if anyone would understand my pain, it would be this gentle warrior of Gondor.

"Why would you ask for my company, my lord?" I asked carefully, attempting to mask my unwillingness, my—yes, it was—fear. "I am not particularly amusing, nor clever."

"And you have proven yourself wrong on both counts" he replied, a full smile upon his face. It almost startled me—I had not heard the sound of laughter, nor seen someone smile in a very long time. "As you have just used both in order to evade my request."

I felt myself go hot.

"Would you have my true answer?"

"Yes."

"Both of us have passed under the Shadow, and the same hand pulled us back," he said musingly, almost as if he spoke to himself. "We were pulled back for a reason. Do you not believe that?"

What reason did I have?

"Perhaps my reason was to find you—for you are very beautiful, my lady. And before the end of this world, I would that I could be with you, even if it be for a short while."

I looked at him in sheer astonishment. I had not expected such plain-spoken words from a man of Gondor, skilled in diplomacy as he undoubtedly was. No man had ever praised me in this way—beautiful was not a word I associated with myself.

Unexpectedly, anger made me clench my fists.

He would praise me, and ask for my company, but he was unwilling to give me what I most wanted.

"Do not look to me for healing, my lord," I said, my shoulders set straight and stiff. "I am a shieldsmaiden, and my hand is ungentle."

With that, I walked back to my chambers.

Author's note: Well, it's bedtime for me—I have school tomorrow. Eww. Hope you enjoyed, and expect more soon! (I'm actually done, but I'm taking a really long time typing. Bear with me!)


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: By the grace of some unknown being/force/whatever you believe in, I don't have much homework today, so for all of you that are looking forward to an update, here it is! Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed read my story! And I would like to thank Irene—you were right, there was a typo! Kind of embarrassing for a fan! You'll see that it has now been corrected—I checked the books. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: You know the drill; none of the characters are mine, all of them belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 5

I awoke the next day, unrefreshed, my eyes still heavy with sleep. The nightmare continued to haunt me—I had sat on the balcony for many hours afterwards, regarding the red glow of Mordor.

As I sat in bed eating bread and butter, the Warden came and placed several books in my lap rather ungraciously.

"These are from the Lord Faramir's library," he said shortly. "If you truly wanted something to do, you could have simply asked me"

"Thank you," I said politely. I picked up the first one, a small volume bound in light blue cloth.

"Lord Faramir also says that you are to have free reign of the city," the Warden said a bit more kindly.

I again repeated my thanks, and the Warden bustled off.

I did not wish to wander the quiet streets of Gondor. But, I thought, it would be a far better fate than pacing the small balcony.

I finished my breakfast quickly, picked up the first book, and was about to go to the balcony, but something stopped me. I was tired of pacing the same cold stones over and over—the garden yesterday had been more pleasing, if not pretty in itself.

But that was to risk meeting the Steward again.

I knew my conduct had been rude, but I was truly afraid of him, afraid of his clear gray eyes that had seen my pain before even speaking to me.

You were wrong, I thought to myself scathingly. You are no shieldsmaiden; what shieldsmaiden is afraid of a mere man? What shieldsmaiden wakes up in a cold sweat from dreaming of battle?

I quickly made my way to the garden. I had to silence this pain, this guilt, these questions. I had to escape them. I wished desperately that I knew how—how to be free of the memories of my fury towards my uncle, the memories of battle, the suffocating memories of duty that Rohan now left me with. I wished that I knew how to remember only the memories of love and beauty.

I could barely remember those.

I sat down on the stone bench that encircled the small plot, and snapped open the book. Books had always provided temporary escape for me—for several hours, I could be anyone else but myself, anywhere else but here.

The Lay of Luthien took me into the dark, mysterious depths of the elf kingdom, allowed me to see Beren fall instantly, deeply in love with the beautiful Luthien. I had read the book many times before; each time had improved upon the last. But now I was simply grateful; Mordor no longer loomed on the horizon, I was not consumed by pain…

I heard the rustle of fabric as someone came and sat down beside me. One glance at the tree embroidered on the shirt sleeve assured me that it was the Lord Faramir.

I wanted to leave, but I did not dare to impose further incivility upon him then I already had—diplomacy told me that it was best to stay.

But diplomacy did not tell me what else to do. Was I to speak to him? To apologize? I opened my mouth, closed it, then continued to read, horribly and shamefully distracted by the rustling of the pages of the Steward's book.

What did he think of me—a wayward girl who had slighted his one request, and yet had the gall to—

"Good morning, my lady." His deep voice rumbled in my ear.

"Good morning, my lord," I stammered, laying my book across my lap. "I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

"Oh, yes," I said breathlessly. His eyes looked into mine for a few seconds; he then continued to read.

I had known that coming here wasn't wise. How could I possibly hide from him as I hid from everyone else?

It did not seem that I was expected to talk, so I slowly picked up my book, and began to read again. But my eyes kept jumping over certain words, and I could not help trying to catch a glimpse of the Steward. Was he looking at me, silently hoping that I would leave? Was he scornful of me?

I furiously attempted to read as another thought floated across my consciousness: Did he still think me beautiful?

It didn't matter. I had ever wanted one man's esteem. And he had said that it was not his to give.

The disappointment and pain that flooded my heart was overwhelming. I hated my weakness.

Escape. Escape.

"I have always envied Luthien," I blurted.

The Steward looked up, his brow furrowed with mild surprise. I felt myself go warm—perhaps I had not been expected to speak? "Why is that?" he asked.

I had been right to be afraid of this man. By his mere presence, he had forced me to speak. Who knew what would happen now?

I could lie, I thought. I could envy her beauty, the fact that she was loved so deeply by another.

"She was able to fight for the ones she loved," I whispered. I closed my eyes for a moment, sure that all of a sudden, all would be revealed to him—all he had to do was ask—why had I come—

"Lady, I am sorry," he said.

"Sorry for what, my lord?" I asked, my eyes jolting open in surprise.

"Faramir."

"What?"

"You may call me Faramir," he said patiently. "If I may call you Eowyn."

I could only nod.

"I thought that perhaps I had offended you yesterday, and I wanted to apologize," he explained. "I would have left you be, but I felt it needed to be said."

"Thank you. And I should apologize for my rudeness," I confessed. "And thank you for the books as well."

He smiled—again, that startling flash of happiness. "Do you like them?" he asked. "I did not know what you would like, so I selected those that I favored."

"Oh, yes—yes I do." I felt a warm flush creeping up my cheeks, mocking my stammering returns. Who was I to balk before this man?

"I always liked The Lay of Luthien the best," he continued, mercifully ignoring my awkward responses. "I must say, it's quite a satisfying adventure."

"Oh, but adventure is only part of it!" I cried. "Think of the danger Beren faced, think of Luthien's devotion to him, think of their love…" I faltered there.

Again the gentle smile, and I realized my mistake. "I would never consider The Lay of Luthien a simple adventure," he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. "But it is worth insulting one of the elves' masterpieces to be able to see you like this. You are so quiet in the Houses." He returned to his book.

I did the same; now I could concentrate fully on the story. Somehow, I felt more at ease; the unnatural consciousness of Faramir's body inches away from mine was now gone. Every time I had thought that I would have to talk, that I would have to confront my pain, he had blithely carried on. How did he know that—

But it didn't matter. Not now. All I knew was that he was far more perceptive than I had imagined—perceptive enough to know that I didn't wish to talk. For a few precious seconds—I had felt almost—

Happy. I had felt nearly happy, speaking of books, being allowed to escape for once.

We continued reading together until it was time for the afternoon meal. As the Steward graciously helped me to my feet, he asked, "My lady, would you be willing to spend tomorrow with me?"

I felt the ghost of a smile on my face. "It would be a true pleasure," I replied.

Author's note: Sorry for interrupting again, but I have to go! Before I do, I want to again thank everyone for reading and/or reviewing and also free myself of some contentions that are bound to come my way.

1) There are many fanfics that have made the assumption that Eowyn cannot read. I respect that, as it never says in the books whether she is literate or not. However, I assumed otherwise; she is a princess after all, and considering the fact that she often is left with the king's royal duties when he goes off to war, I thought that she would have to be able to read.

2) I KNOW that The Lay of Luthien is an Elvish story, and is not known by many—I am currently rereading the Fellowship for the fifth time, and I know that Aragorn says that it is not known by many people. However, I thought that considering that Gondor, and Minas Tirith in particular, was a haven for knowledge (Gandalf went there first when he first suspected the Ring still existed), they may have had some translations of the Lay. I thought that Faramir might have had them in his collection, as in the second book, he mentions that he is interested in Elvish lore. I also liked how it tied in with Eowyn's story and personality.

This is now really long, and you may think I'm being defensive. I'm really not, it's just that I'd rather not be accused of not knowing what I'm writing about.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed it, and I will try to post again soon!


	6. Chapter 6

Authors' Note: Hi again! For all of you who have been waiting for the next chapter, I would like to apologize and say thank you at the same time—thanks for all the comments! They really make my day. And I'm sorry I've taken so long to update—musicals tend to take up a lot of your time, even if you're just a flute player, and not really in the musical! Well, no more excuses—without further ado: here it is!

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine; all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 6

The next morning brought with it rain, so that the sky looked even darker than usual, what with the Shadow of Mordor spread across the heavens. The nightmare had again woken me, but this time it had been less vivid, almost as if I were seeing everything through a thick fog. I had slept much better; for the fist time, the shadows under my eyes were barely noticeable.

After breakfast, I began to read again, sitting at the edge of my bed. I seemed doomed, I reflected, as I looked up at the fifth passerby in a half an hour, to never finish The Lay of Luthien. I could not help wondering if the Steward—Faramir, I corrected myself—expected me still, despite the weather. The restless ache inside of me had somewhat abated after our meeting, but now I felt it again.

Escape. I must escape.

I dropped the book, and went over to the window. Though one could see it better from the balcony, the darkness of Mordor still managed to mar the picture framed by my window. Again, my thoughts turned to Eomer, riding against a foe with so great a host, victory seemed chancy.

Impossible.

I had to get out, had to do something—if I continued to think like this, I would go mad. I would not lose him. I could not lose him—I could not bear to lose another—

"Do you look to the East as well?"

"My lord Faramir," I said, startled. I turned and dropped an awkward curtsey.

"It must be difficult, not knowing where your brother may be," he said gravely, coming to stand beside me. "I hope that fates are with him."

"As do I," I whispered through stiff lips.

We stood together at the window for what seemed a long while. I gazed out at the mountains to the north of Mordor, their peaks made blue by the distance.

After a while, I could not but help feel conscious of the silence between us, of the Steward's every move or sigh. His hands rested on the window next to mine. I could not help but think them handsome—long-fingered but strong, and calloused from war. I could see the faint white lines on his wrist, the scars of one who had long used the bow. But somehow, I felt that those hands would be better in instilling peace than waging war.

An irrational spasm of fear ran through me. Why was I so afraid of him? He had given me every wish to the best of his ability; I could not imagine him ever raising his voice. His honest apology had been admirable—some might have said the mark of a simple mind, but from the clarity of his eyes, I knew it to simply be the mark of a good man.

Then why was I afraid? Why could I not tell him of my suffocating guilt, my pain? Would he be driven from me then—would the knowledge of my doubts and fears convince him, as it had convinced me, that I was eternally broken?

What did he want, I thought, anger now rising within me. Could he not tell that I wished to be alone? That I had enough questions haunting me in the night, without these added insecurities?

Did he know that I did not know myself?

It wasn't fair to turn to him in anger, I decided. Though he had seen my pain, he could not possibly know all my thoughts. He had done what he could for me, and for that, he deserved something in return.

If it was my company he wanted, he would receive it.

"I am sorry I did not come," I said presently, turning to him. "Did you expect me?"

He laughed—again, the sound startled me. Had it truly been that long since I had heard laughter?

"Not with this rain," he said. "But I became restless, so I asked to be shown to your chambers."

"Restless, did you say, my lord?"

"Faramir," he corrected. "Do you not feel restless in the quiet of the city?"

"Yes, I do," I said quietly, turning away again. "I cannot stand this waiting," I said to myself.

I turned again as I felt his eyes upon me. "Perhaps we can ease the waiting for each other," he said, smiling slightly.

"Perhaps we can," I replied, surprised that I believed my own answer.

I sat in a chair positioned in the corner of the room, and offered him the bed. He picked up my book. "I see you are almost done," he said.

"It is not very long," I retorted. "And there was very little else for me to do this morning."

"The rain did succeed in ruining our plans, did it not?"

"Does it rain often in Gondor?" I asked. I wanted to laugh out loud at the banality of my question, but instead I felt myself flush. How was it that I constantly managed to embarrass myself in front of him?

But if Faramir found the question amusing, he did not smile. "Only in the spring," he replied. "And then it is a cause for much rejoicing, for rain signals the end of winter and the beginning of the warmer months. But there will be no rejoicing this year." He gazed out the window again. I bowed my head, my heart heavy.

"Does it rain in Rohan?" he asked in turn.

"This is a mere sprinkling compared to the torrents I have seen at home," I replied. "The rain would rattle the windows and doors—Meduseld itself would sometimes spring a leaky roof!" I smiled at childhood memories of falling asleep to the sound of water slowing dripping into buckets.

"Leaky roofs do not happen here very often," Faramir conceded. "But it snows."

"Does it really?" I asked, all reserve forgotten. I had only seen snow once, and that had been high in the mountains surrounding Rohan. "I love the way the white shatters into a thousand rainbows under the sun," I murmured.

Again, I felt uncomfortably hot. "I am sorry," I said shyly. "I do not usually break into poetry without reason."

"The beauty of snow is reason enough, I should think," Faramir said, a smile on his face. He really did believe me a simple child, I thought, mortified. "But I love spring best," he continued. "It is in spring that everything is again reborn—and the grass is greener, and the flowers smell sweeter because of it. And it is in spring that our fate will be decided."

We fell silent again. Faramir gazed out the window; all the better, for I needed time to think. I realized that while we had talked, I had remembered my childhood; memories that had not been thought of for years had gently surfaced during our conversation. And now others flooded my consciousness behind my eyelids—afternoon lessons with Eomer, the sun streaming through the draped curtains; riding over the plains with nothing hemming me in; being swung round in Theoden's arms, screaming with frightened delight.

Happiness. Love.

A Healer brought me my afternoon meal. "I suppose I should let you eat in peace," Faramir said. "It is regrettable, though I confess I am looking forward to my own meal."

"As am I." The emptiness of my stomach surprised me—I had not had much appetite since entering the Houses of Healing, mechanically eating whatever I was served in order to keep my strength.

"Talking does always make one hungry," Faramir observed. "Or at least I always believed so, considering the amount my brother used to eat after negociations."

Suddenly, he closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. "Are you not well, my lord?" I asked, alarmed.

He smiled at me, his face wan. "The darkness sometimes seems to press upon me," he said softly.

"It presses upon me as well," I said without thought, walking over to stand beside him.

He looked at me, almost as if he expected me to say more, then stood to leave. "Tomorrow, my lady?"

"Tomorrow."

As I slowly began to eat, I wondered at how it was possible to see both the light and the dark in one man or woman.

And whether the two sides could ever be reconciled.

Authors' Note: Sorry! You know how it is when you suddenly have no control over your characters? Well, that's how it seems to be for me—especially Eowyn! She has a way of saying the most banal things at the most crucial moments—but I hoped you liked it anyways! Thanks, and don't hesitate to review!


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Wow, this is a record for me; but as I've finished the story, I feel bad about holding it back from my readers. Thanks again for the wonderful reviews; they really do make my day! Well, here we go!

Chapter 7

"And what have they planted here?"

"Forget-me-nots, I hope; but it is hard to tell."

The rain had stopped overnight, and though the garden's soil was still dark from the damp, it was dry enough to walk outside. The sky remained overcast, but there was a musty, earthy smell in the air that somehow had lifted my spirits. After my nightly dream, I had been able to get back to sleep quickly, only lying awake for a few minutes; the grief and fear that always riddled my mind afterwards had somehow been more bearable.

Faramir and I had spent the morning trying to guess the flowers that had been planted in the small plot. Admittedly, he had an unfair advantage; the gardeners planted the same flowers every year, or so I was told. But he had often been away in the last few years, he had informed me.

"But if you have seen these flowers from childhood," I had argued when he had first suggested the pastime, "you must remember most of them."

His eyes had closed briefly in response. "I find that the memory of darkness often prevails over memories of light," he had finally said.

Though he often knew my emotions better than I knew them myself, I had not the same gift. I could not tell if he wanted to talk of this horrible memory he had alluded to, or whether he would rather forget it, as I did.

So, I had suggested that if after three guesses, I was not satisfied with my answer, I would be permitted to catch a glimpse of the bulb. I had used that privilege many times already—wet soil clung to my hands. I reveled in the feeling, and paused to smell the earth on my palms.

"Eowyn?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes—my guess is geraniums," I said quickly.

"I dearly hope not—they have no scent."

"My lord, forget-me-nots have no scent either."

"The blue suits the garden better," he retorted.

I would infinitely prefer violets," I said, imagining the dark purple blossoms dotting the garden.

"Well, only patience will tell," he finished.

"Patience is no virtue of mine," I reflected. "If I could, I would that all of them bloom right now."

"You have many other virtues," Faramir said, catching my eye.

I quickly looked away.

The days were somehow easier to bear when I had Faramir to share them with. I did not know why, but the pain and the questions were not as plaguing when we talked. Often, it was enough to simply read in his company, only talking now and again. I—did I really?—yes—I liked his company very much.

But I was mortally afraid that something would break through our light-filled conversations—or as light-filled as they could be during these dark times. That his pity would show itself again, as it had done now, and again I would remember the one who my heart could not forget…

"Shall we sit? You look weary, Eowyn." Faramir's voice broke through my reverie.

"Oh, yes," I said gratefully. We had circled the garden for hours, and it had been difficult to uproot the bulbs with my bare hands, though Faramir had done most of it, despite my insistence.

I smiled slightly at him, but he appeared not to notice, looking out into the distance. The Warden had told me much of Faramir last night—of his kindness, his love for his people, his great sense of duty. "But his father…" The Warden had trailed off, shaking his head slightly, and taking away my evening meal.

I could not help but wonder if Faramir's father had anything to do with the pain he carried deep within him, that only revealed itself occasionally.

I took out my book, and began to read. "I am afraid it is I who am unamusing, and not you, Eowyn," he said after a while.

"It is difficult to find anything amusing in these dark hours," I replied. "Do you look to the East again?"

"My eyes are drawn to it," he said with a small shudder, "though I would look elsewhere."

"I feel the same," I softly replied. The Shadow of Mordor was a constant presence, but that did not make it any easier to bear. How I wished the malevolent hand that seemed to stretch from the foothills of Mordor would draw back.

"It has been so long since I have seen the sun," I whispered. Faramir did not respond, and only smiled slightly. Again, I wondered of what he was thinking—happier times? Or perhaps my puerile comment? I thought to myself scornfully.

We were standing at the edge of either ruin, or freedom, I suddenly realized. The chasm could open up and swallow us all, or all would be made new again. I did not know which would happen, which perhaps was best; I was afraid that I would see the dark again. But restless waiting was no substitute for knowledge.

"My lady, shall we go inside to eat?"

As Faramir helped me to my feet, I could not help thinking that waiting on the brink was bearable, as long as he was with me.

***

I heard the screams before I heard anything else. Loud, piercing screams that were punctuated with sobbing.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream.

But no—I was sitting up in bed; my book was still in my hands. I clutched it until my fingertips went white.

"Ioreth! Ioreth, we need warm water—"

"Don't bring gauze—how will that help, you—"

I felt light-headed as I made my way out of my chambers and into the ward.

There had been several patients in the ward after the battle, but most had not been inflicted serious injuries, and remained behind only so that the city would not remain wholly unprotected. Most patients were silent, complaining very little, and sleeping throughout the day.

This boy seemed too young to be a soldier. I could discern no bandages, but his body was so contorted, it may have been that I was mistaken. His back was in a terrible arc, his hands were transformed into claws as his body seized uncontrollably. He gave out horrible grunts, and I unconsciously clamped my hands to my mouth as I saw blood streaming down his chin.

This was no nightmare. Nothing this horrible could possibly be dreamt.

"My lady!" the Warden called out to me as he desperately attempted to help the boy relax his convulsing body. "Go back to your chambers!"

I was startled by the surge of red anger that slowly swelled up in my chest. I had always been dismissed to my chambers. But how could I go back, with the boy's poor disfigured face, his eyes bulged, his tongue caught between his teeth, haunting me?

"Let me help," I said quickly but gently.

"But, my lady—"

I knelt down beside the boy. His arms twitched this way and that, and he gasped for air.

What are you doing? I asked myself.

Saving a life, I calmly responded.

I took a wooden probe that was lying on the bedside table and attempted to pry his mouth open. Air, he needed air. His jaw remained tensed. I exerted all the force that I could. He looked at me with wide, frightened eyes; his gasps became more frantic.

"It's going to be all right," I said, putting down the probe and smoothing the sticky hair off his face. "Please—please try."

Suddenly, his body seemed to relax; his hands unlocked, he was thrust onto his bed and his back became straight again. I now pried open his mouth—he inhaled deeply, loudly, and closed his eyes.

"He's bitten his tongue," I said quickly. "He needs medicine."

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I know, my lady," the Warden's voice said quietly.

I stood up, my knees feeling like water. "You will give him medicine?" I asked meekly, suddenly exhausted.

"Yes, my lady." The Warden gave me a small smile, but his eyes sparkled with kindness.

The Healers rushed back to the boy, each carrying a towel or a salve. They all stopped when they saw me.

"He needs medicine," I said stupidly.

One of the Healers hesitantly approached the bed, and began to bathe the boy's brow with water. Slowly, the others began to again do their duties.

I stumbled back to my chambers. I needed a change of clothes; my nightgown was splattered with blood.

The Warden passed me on my way into my chambers. "You are a healer, my lady," he said softly.

I nodded, dumbfounded. I was a Healer?

I changed quickly, and blew out the candle. And as I closed my eyes, I heard a voice from the depths of long-gone days: "Well done, sister-daughter."

Author's note: Well, I hope you liked it! For you sticklers out there, the patient was supposed to have tetanus; I briefly discussed the symptoms with my biology teacher, and found some pictures while perusing my textbook. I hope I got it right! Basically, I never liked how Tolkien made Eowyn all of a sudden declare that she wanted to be a healer; he might have meant it metaphorically, but I wanted to take it literally, and I always thought it would suit her to be a healer, as it might be a way for her to cope with her perceived failure in saving her uncle. So that's why this scene is here; I think she responded to it rather well—it was instinct, not skill. I'm rambling now, so I will stop myself, and again, thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming! Happy reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Hi again! My apologies—school, musical, performances, and getting very little sleep has been basically my whole world for the past three weeks. But IT'S VACATION! YES! So, I might actually be able to finish this story (which is unbearably sad and happy at the same time, as I already have other ideas). Here we go!

Chapter 8

Again the hoarse commands, again the screaming of horses. The same cold air.

"Eowyn! Eowyn!"

The same voice. But there was no panic in my uncle's call—only a desire to find me.

"Eowyn! What are you doing here?"

All other noises faded away. I only saw my uncle's face, his proud chin, his sword again strapped to his side.

"I always come here," I said, smiling at him. My chest burned with tears.

"Why?"

"For you."

"No. Don't lie, Eowyn. It is not for me."

I let out a sob. "I'm sorry," I croaked out. "I'm sorry uncle. I'm sorry for my anger, and resentment, and the blame I cast on you, but—"

"I know," he said, slowly stretching out his gloved hand to touch my face. "I know. And you are forgiven. You are always forgiven. Does that comfort you?"

I closed my eyes as I felt his hand brush my cheek. "Yes. And no."

"Eowyn," he said softly. "You must learn to put the past behind you. It does not good to brood. Do not let your guilt devour you. You have so much left for you, sister-daughter."

"How can I not let it devour me?" I asked angrily. "How can I forget you? What I felt when I was not allowed to be the shieldsmaiden I knew I was? And I am no longer even sure of that!" I let out another sob.

"You shall find your way, Eowyn," Theoden said. He took his hand away. I grabbed it and held it for a moment. "Do not let grief define you. Go."

Slowly he turned and walked away, as I cried.

***

The dream stayed with me, even after I had eaten my breakfast and taken my book out to the garden. I could not read—for once, I did not want to escape from myself.

Do not let it devour you.

Could I really forget? Could I really be healed? It had been so long since I had thought that possible—I had been resigned to living a shadowed life.

But my life was not all shadow. I thought of my conversations with Faramir, of his smile, his gentle laugh, the memories he somehow evoked. It did not matter how; all that mattered was that it had kept me from utter despair.

Perhaps it was possible.

Looking up, I suddenly realized Faramir was not there. I had been so consumed with my reverie, I had not missed his presence. But now, I needed to speak with him.

I needed to tell him. I knew that if ever I were to rid myself of it, I needed to talk to him. That I had refrained from telling him of my pain because I had believed that it was my duty to carry the burden alone.

But I would find my way.

I went inside. The Warden was standing in the doorway, almost as if he were waiting for me.

"Do you know where Lord Faramir may be?" I asked him. "He has not met me yet."

"We can go look for him—after." the Warden said.

"After what?"

"Eowyn," he said gravely, stepping towards me, "what you did yesterday—there are very few who possess your gift."

"Thank you," I murmured, though I felt my brow furrow in confusion. It had been mere instinct, helping that boy—mere frightened instinct. And how could I, a shieldsmaiden, be a healer as well? Was there a choice that had to be made?

"We would like to offer you training," the Warden was now saying. "One such as you could become a great Healer."

"Really?" I could think of nothing else to say.

"You do not have to decide now," he said kindly. "But in these dark days, we could use one such as you, Shieldsmaiden of Rohan. Oh, here is the Lord Faramir!"

He suddenly appeared next to the Warden. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I echoed hollowly.

"My lady, are you not well?" Faramir asked, coming to my side.

"She will be all right," the Warden replied for me. He smiled, then walked away.

"Would you like to sit?"

"Yes," I murmured. "Yes, thank you."

"What did he say to you, Eowyn?" Faramir asked after he sat down beside me.

"He—he asked—" My courage failed me. He would laugh, to be sure. I would have laughed, had this occurred before the battle. "Nothing, my lord."

"I heard of what you did last night," he said. "Your courage is unmatched, lady."

"Thank you." Didn't he understand that confusion was close to rendering me mute?

He would never know. Not unless I told him.

Let it go. I couldn't escape, but I could face my pain, come what may.

"Do you think it true, that often it is the ones we love most that we hurt most?" I blurted out.

He looked away from me for a moment. "Yes, I do believe that," he said at last. "And often, the hurt is not so easily forgotten."

Again, confusion roiled in my stomach. My chest felt cold. Despair—I could not possibly be redeemed, could not be rescued—

"But Eowyn," he said softly, suddenly taking my hand in his. They were warm against my cold skin. "It is always love. Love is stronger than all. My father was a good man. He always did what he believed was right for his people. He loved me and my brother and…" he gave a shuddering sigh. "And we both loved him."

"My lord—" I started, sympathy flooding my heart.

"No, Eowyn," he said, almost harshly. "I must tell you.

"After my brother's body was found," Faramir said slowly, as if he were pulling every word out of a great depth, "my father could no longer tell friend from foe. He nursed his sorrow until it consumed him. In fire and death. He built his own funeral pyre and—"

I placed my hand upon his shoulder, and he smiled slightly. "But I resolved not to be like him. I resolved not to let my grief and fear consume me. I would feel sorrow. I would remember the pain of losing a brother, a father—but I would remember the memories of light as well."

I breathed slowly, an unexpected, almost alien feeling overwhelming me. "What do you do, when you feel the darkness will engulf you?" I asked in a whisper.

He smiled. "Do you not know?" he asked.

I was about to make a retort, when he said, "And you Eowyn? Will you rid yourself of the darkness? Will you remember the light of happier times?"

I looked at him for a moment. "I will try, my lord," I said softly. "In truth, I am not sure if I can."

"You will, I promise you," he said, standing to leave. "You will."

I had not told him of my guilt, my pain. But perhaps it was now in me to do so.

Author's Note: Hope you liked it! Agh, so tired *collapses into bed.*


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Hi again! Well, I might as well warn you that this chapter is rather short—but I hope you will enjoy it all the same! Again, huge thanks to those of you who reviewed, and for those reading for the first time, don't hesitate to give your opinion!

Disclaimer (I always forget this part!): I own none of the characters; everything belongs to J.R.R Tolkien.

Chapter 9

I dreamt no dreams during the night, but had found that in itself so unsettling that I had awoken, and sat on the balcony for several hours. The red sky above Mordor had seemed particularly horrible, and I had wondered for the infinite time where Eomer was.

The rain that had abated some days ago now threatened to fall again—the sky grumbled, speaking of lightening and thunder. That did not deter me, however; after breakfast I went outside to the garden, my book tucked underneath my arm. I gingerly sat down upon the cold stone bench, and began to read; but the wind flipped through the pages, and caused my hair to blow into my face. I tangled a restraining hand into my hair, and shivered.

"May I give you a gift?" Faramir's voice asked in my ear.

I started, then gave him a small smile. "That depends upon the nature of the gift," I replied solemnly.

He laughed. "I think it shall be welcome," he replied.

He unfolded a bundle of the deepest blue cloth, then wrapped it around my shoulders.

"It is most welcome," I said gratefully, thanking him.

Faramir gave me a strange piercing look, and did not reply. Feeling slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I attempted to continue reading.

But the wind continued to frisk through the pages, so I closed my book, and looked to the east. My mind was with Eomer as it was.

"Looking east again?" asked Faramir.

"It has been seven days since the Company departed," I said, looking down at my lap. "And yet we have no word."

"Anxious are the hearts of those who are left behind," he said. "And yet—for me—these seven days have brought with them joy and pain. I too worry for those who go to fight a foe more powerful than they, but—I have met you," he said softly. "I would not lose that which I have found."

I breathed silently and closed my eyes, before opening them and asking, "And what have you found, my lord? On my part, I have found nothing in these dark days that I would fear to lose—save one," I said in a murmur. I blundered on, my cheeks feeling flushed. "But let us not speak of it—either the void will swallow us, or we will rise above it. I know not which."

"Yes," said Faramir gravely; he seemed not to have noticed my confession, for which I was grateful. I myself was unsure what it meant. "I too have dreamt of the Darkness Inescapable."

"And…" I forced the question out. "And do you think that is our fate? Darkness Inescapable?"

"In this hour, I cannot, will not believe any darkness can endure." He whispered the last triumphantly, alarmingly close to my ear.

I felt his hand in mine, and I realized that we had clasped hands unknowingly.

And then I felt his gentle lips on my hair.

And I knew—I knew something—the weight that had pressed against my heart flew free, and I could no longer believe in the Darkness either.

I felt something that was meant to endure.

And then uncertainty set in; but that did not matter. I could confront it now. I could confront all my pain, and grief, and anger, and guilt—who could not in this glorious warmth?

Warmth? Sun.

Did I dream?

But no—I saw the darkness of Mordor depart—the redness had burned its last, and the sky was a heart-aching blue—

And what was the Eagle crying?

"The Black Gate of Mordor is broken and your king is victorious!"

Was it true?

This was too happy an occasion to be a dream.

I heard a laugh, a full hearty laugh—Faramir's face was transformed, his eyes were hidden behind this face of sheer joy.

And I laughed too—and though I could taste the salt-tears on my lips, I did not see a need to wipe them away.

Author's note: YAY! Happiness! Sorry—this was by far the most fun chapter to write. Well, Chapter 2 comes in a close second. I don't know—I liked writing the whole thing, and I hoped you liked reading it! (Just two more chapters to go!)


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: Hi for the millionth time! Well, we are nearing the end; I hope you enjoyed it, and if you haven't done so already, I'd really love to hear anything you've got to say about the story.

Disclaimer: You know the drill; none of this is mine, everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter 10

_My dearest sister,_

_I hope this message finds you in good health. But how could you not be, after our glorious victory! I shall have to be brief, as I have much work to do; Eowyn, I ask you again, will you not come to meet with us in the fields of Cormallen? I have a great desire to see you, as do many others._

_Eomer_

I sat down on the chair in my chambers. I had been adamant in my first refusal, but with every message my brother sent, my resolve diminished. I wanted to see him again, so much that I thought I would burst—perhaps I could be happy again if he were by my side.

But I had work to do.

I had decided to take the position of Healer the Warden had offered me. He had been delighted when I had informed him of my acceptance.

"Oh, my lady!" he had cried. "You shall be renowned throughout Gondor!"

But I no longer wanted renown, nor glory, nor valor—I had realized that my dream to ride to battle had been shattered by it's simple fulfillment. I still occasionally awoke from dreams of desecrated battle fields, stagnant pools of blood dotting the plains.

I had accepted it. I was a shieldsmaiden, and always would be—if I was needed when the call to arms came, I would go. But for now, I was content with learning the herb lore of Gondor, creating salves that worked as often as not. I grimaced, thinking of the rash I had caused one patient due to my faulty measurements. For now that the War was over—how I cherished that thought!—there were many who needed my help.

So I was content. Almost fully content.

Though it was trite, the passing of the cold of winter, and the novel greenness of spring had done its' part in healing my wounds. I could now think of Theoden with love in my heart; but only love, and very little guilt.

But sometimes, sorrow would catch me unawares in the hall, and I would stand stock-still, willing it to loosen its' grip on me.

I had no reason to be sorrowful, and every reason to be happy. Why was I not happy?

I placed the message on my desk, and started to leave the room. I had two salves to prepare, and could not afford to waste any more time, nor make any mistakes, I told myself sternly.

A familiar hand caught my arm.

"My lady? May we speak?"

I had not spoken with the Steward since the Tidings had come. I had often seen him from afar; he seemed always occupied, which did not surprise me, considering the repairs the city needed in order to be ready for the King's return.

But he never came and spoke to me.

And seeing him now sent the uncertainty, the pain and questioning that I had felt since I had entered the Houses of Healing back into my heart.

I had never told him all of this.

Was that why I had lost him?

For I had lost him; I knew he was busy, but the looks he had given me when our paths had crossed were ones of doubt and fear.

I hated this feeling—wanting to throw myself at his feet, promising to tell him everything, if only he would not leave me.

But something stopped me—something more than my pride.

Did I truly love him? I had thought that I loved Aragorn—but after much cold reflection, I knew it had been simple infatuation. I had known so little about him—I had built my world around a man who did not exist.

I thought I loved Faramir—I knew him, his goodness, his pain. And he knew me as well.

Or at least I thought he knew me.

"My lady!"

"Oh," I gasped, realizing he had called my names several times before. "I am rather busy right now, I have—"

"You have permission," he said gently. "I asked the Warden, and he said he could spare you for a moment."

"Shall we go to the garden?"

He led me there.

The garden was truly lovely—the small plot had grown thick with white lilies, and around the border, violets opened their small faces to the sun. Forget-me-nots were scattered in the flower pots.

We sat down on the stone bench, warm from the sun.

"Eowyn, why do you linger here? Why do you not join your brother in Cormallen?"

The question was so unexpected, I nearly laughed aloud.

"Do you not know?" I retorted, almost angry at him. He had known of my pain as soon as he had seen me—he had known what was needed to heal me. How could he not know of my love?

"I can think of two reasons," he said, ignoring my anger. "Which one is correct I can hope—but I do not know."

I stood up. Please, I cried silently. Please don't say it. Just when I was feeling whole again…

"I do not wish to speak in riddles," I said shortly.

"Well then," Faramir started. "Either you do not wish to see the Lord Aragorn in this light of joy, because it will only remind you of what could have been, but wasn't. You loved him because he was high and powerful, and would help you to escape the suffocating bonds of your duty. Or," he said, coming to stand beside me, "you wish to be near me still. Which is it, my lady?"

His eyes pierced mine. They were soft with pity.

"I wished to be loved by another," I conceded.

But how could I love him after you?

"But I wish for no man's pity."

Not if it is all you have to give me. Please, please, say you love me—

"Do not scorn the pity of a kind heart, Eowyn," he said softly. "But do you truly think I pity you? I did when I first saw you," he admitted. "Your pain was like a burden about your neck; I saw it plainly. But you are a shieldsmaiden high and courageous, and beautiful beyond any words. Were all your pain taken away, were you the queen of all men, I would still love you. Do you not love me?"

I stared at him, unable to breathe. No, it hadn't been pity that had shone in his eyes, and it was not with pity that he now approached me.

"I no longer wish to fight," I whispered, not daring to speak any louder. "I shall be a healer, and love all things that grow. And I no longer wish to be Queen."

Faramir's laugh rang as true as it had on that miraculous day when the Tide had turned. "That is well, for I am no King," he said, taking my hands. "But we shall be wed, if you wish it, and you and I shall see the garden of Ithelien in its former glory again. For anything will grow if you come with me."

"And would you have people say of you, 'There is the man for whom no woman of Numeror was good enough, there is the man who tamed the wild shieldsmaiden'?" I asked solemnly.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, as he held me in his arms. "I would," he said.

We kissed.

***

"I want to tell you something," I said to Faramir. We had retreated to my chambers after we became aware of how visible we were from the garden. Faramir and I sat together on my bed, our fingers entwined, talking, although sometimes, our lips would meet again.

Which was also quite all right.

"What is it, Eowyn?"

"It's a—story," I said, after some consideration. "My story."

His face turned solemn. "I would like to hear it," he said.

"You have been waiting to hear it, have you not?" I retorted.

"I thought that perhaps facing your pain was the best way for you," he said. "When I saw you so pale, even after the end—I thought I had failed you. I thought that you still grieved for your uncle. That is why I stayed away."

I kissed his brow. "You told me once that love endured, while everything else was forgotten," I said. "How could you have thought that you had failed?"

"I am happy to know that I hadn't," he said, sighing as I tucked my head under his chin. "But—I also thought that—perhaps—you might have found it difficult to speak with me, after Lord Aragorn's return."

"I thought I loved Aragorn," I said quietly. "But I loved—I loved the idea of escape more. I thought that he, with all his stern power, could help me. But now I know that no one could. Not even you could help me, until I helped myself."

We held each other for a moment.

"And your uncle?" Faramir asked quietly, his beard tickling my forehead. Do you still grieve for him?"

"I will always grieve for him," I responded. "His life was too short, and many of his years were spent in the shadows. But I no longer feel the guilt that I did." I turned away for a moment. "I regret that I did not always show him my love, but—I can only hope that he knew—I loved him as a daughter loves a father."

"And he loved you as a father loves a daughter," Faramir replied. "His last words were to ask for you, I am told."

I felt tears prick my eyes, but they were the calm tears of mourning, not the angry tears of grief. I felt a rough hand gently rub the back of my own.

"I'm sorry," I said in an unsteady voice. "I did not mean—"

"Never be sorry, my Eowyn," Faramir said, holding my hands. We sat like that for a long time.

Faramir opened his mouth hesitantly, closed it, sighed, then tried again. "You—you will marry me, won't you?"

I laughed. "Of course I'll marry you," I chortled in a very unlady-like manner.

"And will you miss Rohan? Or would you—"

"You have duties here," I cut him off. "In Gondor. As do I—I am a Healer now, you know. I shall always love Rohan, but—I am ready. I will have to visit occasionally, anyways—a new tie of friendship has been forged between Gondor and the Horselords, after all."

Slowly, we wrapped our arms around each other in an embrace.

"When he that I loved as a father is buried," I whispered into his ear, "I will return."

We had saved ourselves.

We had saved each other.

THE END


	11. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own nothing; everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Epilogue

"Eowyn! Do not tire the horse—we still have a ways to go!"

I laughed at Eomer's useless rebuke. "I can see Minas Tirith from here," I retorted over my shoulder. "Now hurry!"

Eomer galloped up to me. "Eowyn, do not fear," he said, panting. "The wedding does not take place until next week."

"And I have not seen Faramir nigh on three months!"

"Does he really allow you to call him Faramir?" my brother teased.

"That is his name, is it not?"

"A man of his stature deserves respect."

"He has my respect, Eomer," I snapped, now directing the horse into a slow walk. "Not my subservience."

"You know that I jest, do you not?" he asked nervously.

"You still fear my wrath, do you not?" I mocked.

"I admit it proudly," he said, with all the dignity he could muster.

We fell silent for a moment, the heat of August swirling around us.

"You will come see me, my sister?" Eomer asked quietly.

"If you come to Ithelien, I shall visit Rohan for your sake," I said. "For yours and Theoden's."

I remembered standing at the foot of my uncle's mound, the white flowers of mourning standing tall in the still summer air.

I had almost given into grief again.

But then I remembered. Love endures, he had said.

How I missed my Faramir. I began to gallop again, at the thought of his eyes, his laugh, our talks—

A rider came towards us; his livery was splendid. Upon his chest was embroidered the white tree of Gondor, and above the tree, the seven stars were suspended.

"Faramir!" I cried out.

I dismounted, barely aware of what I was doing, and ran towards him.

"Hail, my lady," he whispered in my ear, as we embraced on the field, our horses prancing around us nervously.

"Hail, Prince of Ithelien," I whispered back.

"And good day to you, Lord Faramir." My brother's voice boomed above us from his steed. His Rohirrim flanked him on either side, and his eyes shone with pride.

Love surged through me.

Faramir bowed. "King Eomer," he said.

"Come," Eomer replied, dismounting and leading his horse by the reins. "We must hurry, for her highness—" he gestured towards me "—is in a hurry!"

Faramir laughed, and I gave Eomer a stern look.

But he was right. All my life, I had hurried. Always wanting to escape, always being dragged back by memories.

But no longer.

That day, I walked slowly and proudly with Faramir by my side.

Redemption, I had achieved. No longer did I revel in stories of battle, but in the quiet comfort of healing.

Faramir smiled at me.

And I knew I had found what I was looking for.

Author's Note: I know, I know, but I couldn't just leave them! Too cute, maybe? Well, let me know, and thanks for reading!


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